In the Turrets
by Ephemerale
Summary: After Kreia's betrayal on Dantooine, the exile spends some time in the gun turrets with Atton, and realizes just how grateful she is to have the cocky scoundrel by her side. 5th in the LSFexile/Atton Moments series.


"How old were you?" Atton asked softly, uncharacteristically serious as he gazed at her from his position beside her in the gun turret. It was a tight fit for two adults in such a small space, one that caused their knees and shoulders to be pressed together. Allia welcomed the body contact, relished his warmth, his strong, solid presence beside her. It grounded her, somehow.

They were on their way to Telos to confront Atris, having left Dantooine a sixteen standard hours prior. Allia closed her eyes against the images that washed over her- of the Masters' empty husks of bodies, devoid of life, devoid of the Force, lying strewn across the ruined enclave floor. Dantooine had been her childhood home, those masters her surrogate parents. They had taught her life lessons, had trained her to control her sometimes impulsive and passionate nature, had given her guidance.

Allia sighed and rested her head against the cold, hard metal wall of the gun turrets, staring up at the stars, pondering Atton's question. Despite her informing the crew that she needed some time to herself, he had made his way to the turrets with a cup of steaming kaffa and a shoulder should she need a place to rest her head. They had begun talking about her childhood, about her decision to disobey the council and follow Malak and Revan to defend the Republic and defeat the Mandalorian threat.

"Fifteen," she replied with a slight, rueful curve of her lips, and she could sense Atton's incredulous stare.

"You were just a child! Revan and Malak entrusted you with an army?" he demanded, and Allia's slight smile slid off of her face.

"Not at first. Malak recruited me; there were so few knights that were willing to leave the order, and besides, I was well known for my… talents. Almost as well known as Bastilla Shan for her battle meditation. She was a year younger than me, very attached to the Jedi Code, fearful of anything different. She refused. I agreed.

"At first, I worked behind the scenes, training new recruits, helping to establish the bonds of brotherhood between units of a battalion before they were sent to war. Then I was given command of one of those units, and then eventually a platoon, then a battalion, and then a brigade of my own. Then the Republic made me a General in '62," she replied, remembering it all. Remembering the faces of the men she had served with, the timbre of their laughter, the feeling of their life force leaving them while Malachor V was destroyed. Allia shivered.

"'62, huh? So that would have made you…?"

"Seventeen," Allia replied, shaking off the ghosts of her past, putting thoughts of the men that she had failed behind her. Seventeen, a mere child, and the Republic, in all its wisdom, had chosen to put the lives of thousands in her hands. She had been talented, yes. An excellent tactician, capable of inspiring the most ruthless and selfish of men to unquestioning loyalty and devotion, but still. She had been a child. How she had managed to survive the emotional toll of the destruction of Malachor V at the tender age of eighteen was a mystery to her.

"How old were you?" she asked, forcing memories of that dark, fateful day to the back of her mind, turning the tide of the conversation towards Atton.

"Which time? When I joined the Republic? When I became a Sith assassin? When I ran away?" he asked, a self-depreciating, mocking twist to his lips that made his face hard. Allia gently rested a hand on his knee and felt some of the tension roll out of his body at her touch. He sighed softly, and then he too rested his head against the wall and stared up at the stars.

"I was twenty when I signed up with the Republic, then I followed Revan and Malak into the Jedi Civil war back in '60. In '59 they realized I was good at killing Jedi, so they trained me to be an assassin. When I finally deserted in '57, I was twenty six."

"Young," Allia replied softly, picturing a twenty four year old Atton, _Jaq_, tracking down Jedi, separating Padawans not much younger than him from their masters, breaking them. Torturing them. Killing them. It seemed impossible, somehow, that someone so young could cause so much damage, could be so hard and cruel. But then again, she had been much younger than he was when she had sent men to their deaths.

"You're only twenty seven now," he replied, lightly nudging her leg. "You feel young?" he asked, and Allia swallowed and rested her head on his shoulder.

"No," she replied softly, quietly, her voice almost a whisper. "I feel old, Atton. So very, very old," she added, letting out a sigh and then taking in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of his soft, worn, Drexl leather jacket, the subtle smell of sweat and male and _Atton_ beneath that.

"Me too, Sweets," he replied, his voice equally soft as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and rested his cheek on the top of her head.

"What's going to happen, when all this is over?" she asked, letting out another sigh and snuggling closer into the scoundrel-turned-Jedi's embrace. He wrapped his arms more tightly around her in response, and she could feel him press a soft kiss into her hair.

"What do you want to happen?" he replied, and Allia closed her eyes, listening to the steady thump-thump-thumping of his heartbeat, the hum of the engine, the occasional groan and creak the _Hawk_ made as it glided through hyperspace.

_I want to stay right here, with you, _she thought, but didn't dare say aloud. That would lead to a conversation she wasn't ready to have. She wasn't even sure if he was willing to discuss such matters, although she had a strong suspicion that Atton's feelings for her ran nearly as deeply for her as hers did for him. "I don't know," she murmured instead, taking the cowards path.

"It's not over yet, Ali. You've got time to figure it out," he said after several moments of silence, and Allia swallowed, her fingers absently toying with one of the ties on his jacket. She had grown fond of the thing, she realized. This old, worn, leather garment had become just as much a part of her life as the _Ebon Hawk_ had.

"What do you want?" she asked after a while, and Atton was silent for a long, long time. When she finally lifted her head to look at him, she saw that his gaze was turned up towards the stars, his eyes thoughtful, his brow furrowed a little in thought. She was almost surprised that he hadn't immediately quipped that all he wanted was some cred-chips, a lively cantina, and a never ending supply of juma. She was grateful he hadn't.

"Not yet, Sweets," he finally murmured cryptically with a sigh, glancing away from the stars to meet her gaze. What she saw there made her heart stutter, lurch, and skip a beat before returning to its normal pace. _Oh._

"What are you going to say to the old bat when you rescue her from Atris?" Atton asked, glancing away from her again, effectively ending a conversation before it had a chance to begin.

"I haven't thought that far ahead yet," Allia admitted softly, nuzzling her head back into that comforting place where his neck met his shoulder.

Atton chuckled, the sound coming out a little strained, slightly forced. "And here I thought you knew everything," he murmured, trying for levity. It fell flat to both their ears. She was still grieving for the Jedi who had raised and forsaken her, and he was still too deep in thoughts he was not yet ready to share.

They sat in silence for several moments, her head on his shoulder, his arms wrapped around her, looking out the thick, plasti-glass window into hyperspace."I'm afraid," she admitted after a long time, and could sense his surprise at her admission. She tried to remember the last time she had admitted to feeling fear, but she couldn't. It must have been before she left with Revan and Malak twelve years ago- there hadn't been enough time for fear in those days, nor had there been anyone she was close enough to share something so intimate with since then. "I can sense something… something is going to go wrong. Someone is going to get hurt. I don't know who or how, but… I am afraid," she repeated.

Atton spread his legs and drew her to the space in between them so that her back was flush against his belly, her head resting against his chest, his lips near her ear so that she could feel the warm puffs of his breath as he exhaled. His arms tightened around her, and Allia closed her eyes, the position so much more comforting, so much more intimate than the one they had been in before. Sitting here with him almost, almost made her believe that all was right with the galaxy.

He said nothing, but nothing needed to be said. His arms around her, the tender way he cradled her- they gave her more comfort than words ever could. _I love you,_ she thought, but didn't say. She kept the words deep inside of her, welling up in her chest and reaching a dam at her lips. Now was not the time for such confessions; he wasn't ready to hear them, nor was she ready to make herself vulnerable enough to say them.

Instead, she turned slightly in his embrace and kissed his jaw, his chin, the corner of his lips, his mouth. It was a soft, tender kiss, one of the very few that they'd shared that wasn't fueled by lust or passion. He returned it, his lips moving against hers with an infinite tenderness that she was still surprised that the cocky, wise-cracking ex-assassin could possess, his hands lifting to cradle her face, his thumb lightly stroking her cheek. When they drew apart, he pressed his lips to her forehead; his hands cupping her jaw, telling her with his body all the things that he could not yet bring himself to say.

He was a good man, a kind man with a gentle heart that he hid beneath walls of carelessness, sarcasm and cruelty. She was grateful that he had opened himself to her enough so that she could catch these rare glimpses of his true character, and absently wondered what path her life would have taken if she had written him off as the complete scoundrel he appeared to be at first glance. She wondered how much abuse he had suffered throughout his life, what could have caused him to hate so deeply, to become so hard, so twisted. She wondered if he would ever tell her his story.

She would not ask him. She knew enough of his past, she was a part of his present, and she hoped that she would remain a piece of his future. That was enough for her, an Exile who had forsaken all emotional ties for the past five years. All that mattered was that he was here now, whole, healthy, holding her as though he loved her.

And so they remained in the gun turret- a Jedi wrapped in an ex-Sith's embrace- until they entered the airspace above Telos, where they would risk their lives in the attempt rescue a traitor from a hypocrite.


End file.
